


Home Economics

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Admittedly putting off Home Economics until senior year wasn’t Erik’s brightest idea. To be fair, it also wasn’t his worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Economics

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Brooke for reading over this for me.

Admittedly putting off Home Economics until senior year wasn’t Erik’s brightest idea. To be fair, it also wasn’t his worst.

Erik was actually known for well-intentioned ideas that ultimately crashed and burned in their execution. At least, he would be known for it, if any of his fellow students actually knew him. As it was, his status as a mutant – something everyone always seemed to know about, even if you didn’t have a visible mutation, and even if you took care never to exercise your powers at school (which, to be fair, Erik didn’t) – tended to repel most of his human classmates. Not that Erik cared; the sort of stuck-up, anti-mutant kids who avoided their more evolved classmates were exactly the type of people Erik, too, took care to avoid.

Within the mutant population at his school, there were two options for socialization: Emma Frost’s radical group of mutant supremacists, or Charles Xavier’s hippy-dippy bunch of inclusive mutant equality activists.

On the one hand, Emma’s “friends” were generally unpleasant people, not at all the sort of friends Erik could bring home to his well-mannered, thoroughly human mother, which would defeat the purpose of socialization entirely. In his final year of high school, on the precipice of leaving for college, the only reason Erik would start making friends would be to have someone to take home to prove to his mother that he wasn’t a total recluse (which he was, but he didn’t want his mother to think so; she already worried enough about him).

On the other hand, with Charles’s friends, Erik could imagine genuinely enjoying himself. Charles was an idealist and, in Erik’s opinion, a little annoying with his overbearing optimism, but not all of his friends seemed to share his seriously misguided views. His sister, Raven, at least, seemed relatively levelheaded. But Erik avoided them all the same… or rather, he avoided Charles.

Because Charles was a telepath.

And Erik had an enormous crush on him.

So that was kind of a really crappy combination.

\- - -

Putting off Home Economics until senior year wasn’t Erik’s brightest idea. Taking the seat in the back row of the classroom, next to the window, was an even worse one. Because in all his detailed, carefully curated knowledge of Charles Xavier, gathered from three years of all but stalking him, Erik had completely forgotten that Charles sat in the same seat in every class: three rows back, next to the window. In other words, the seat directly in front of Erik. And even though Erik knew Charles probably wouldn’t be in this class, there was always a chance. Generally, he avoided the three seats surrounding that third-row seat by the window. That day, he’d completely forgotten.

Erik had arrived to class early. He always did; the five-minute breaks between classes were plenty of time to get from one end of the school to another, so long as you didn’t stop to chat with your friends for four minutes of it, which Erik never did, seeing as he didn’t have any friends to chat with in the first place. So he got to class early, took his seat, and waited. Bored and not sensing any really interesting bits of metal in his general vicinity, Erik sat tapping his foot and shifting his gaze between the clock on the wall ticking toward the hour and the open doorway, through which students, mostly freshmen, a few sophomores – including Raven – filed in. Raven took a seat with her fellow sophomore – and fellow mutant – Angel, one of Emma’s more agreeable cohorts. Erik wasn’t paying enough attention to notice how Raven set her backpack down on the seat right in front of him, the third-row seat by the window, like she was saving it for someone.

Almost exactly as the bell rang, one final student entered: Charles himself. Erik was looking out the window when Charles graced the room with his presence, presumably in all his floppy-haired, blue-eyed, red-mouthed, unbearably attractive glory. In fact, Erik didn’t take notice of Charles’s arrival until he heard his (frustratingly perfect) voice.

“Ah, thank you, Raven, just where I wanted to sit.”

Erik’s eyes widened momentarily. This was bad. This was actually terrible. Had Charles Xavier, model student, every teacher’s pet – even the teachers who didn’t have him as a student – seriously put off Home Ec until his senior year? That was the sort of irresponsible behavior Erik expected from… well, from just about every other high school student, including himself, but not Charles.

Raven and probably Angel had said a few things while Erik was wallowing in the universe’s obvious hatred of him, but it was, again, Charles’s voice that snapped him back to the present. Charles’s voice… directed at him. Unfortunately, not soon enough for him to actually hear what Charles was saying. Erik looked up at him and, to avoid looking stupid, defaulted to his factory setting: open hostility.

“What?” he snapped, focusing intensely on thoughts not related to Charles’s voice or his hair or his eyes or his mouth… especially his mouth.

Charles seemed, if anything, only slightly taken aback by Erik’s tone, and the surprise only lasted on his face for a moment before returning to his typical lovely red smile. He took his seat by the window but swiveled in his chair to face Erik with an open, friendly expression that made whomever was on the receiving end of it feel like the most important person in the world. At least the most important person in Charles’s world. Erik allowed himself a brief moment of fantasy along that line before tamping down those thoughts in the presence of a telepath.

It took all of Erik’s considerable focus, as Charles repeated himself, to listen to and actually process what Charles was saying this time.

“I was only noticing who you are,” Charles said. He pointed at Erik as if he’d made some grand discovery. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but you’re the guy who’s always trying to block me out. You know if you don’t want me in your head you could just ask nicely. I do respect people’s privacy.”

Erik narrowed his eyes at Charles, admittedly pleased with this information (even though he didn’t completely trust it; no one could be as honest and trustworthy as Charles made himself out to be) but not letting on. “Good,” he snapped. “In that case, stay out of my head.”

Charles frowned. “That wasn’t asking nicely, but I’ll ignore how rude you were and I’ll leave your thoughts alone from now on.” He held out a hand. “Are we good?”

Erik stared at the hand like it was the strangest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. “You’re seriously offering to shake my hand.” It was a statement, more than a question, and a very judgmental one at that. He caught a hint of a blush at the edges of Charles’s cheeks as Charles pulled back his hand and ran it through his hair (a gesture that had Erik’s eyes following Charles’s fingers’ every movement and almost made him blush right back).

At that moment, Erik belatedly realized that Raven and Angel had been watching the entire exchange with looks of interest and barely suppressed grins. Raven leaned toward Erik. “Charles is kind of a dusty old man in an awkward teenage body,” she said. “We think it might be the telepathy. It makes him think he’s smarter and more mature than he actually is.”

Erik would hardly describe Charles’s body (what he’d seen of it) as “awkward,” but the rest of this, he believed. He shrugged. “Nice to know there are some consequences for constantly invading people’s privacy,” he said frostily, kind of regretting it, actually. He wasn’t making a very good first impression. Then again, since when did Erik Lehnsherr care about first impressions? ( _Since you started crushing on a very polite and charismatic telepath,_ his mind unhelpfully supplied.)

Raven’s eyes widened and her gaze shifted to Charles. She looked uncomfortable and quite like she was going to say something, but Charles leveled what was probably a very significant look at her. They communicated through what seemed to be a serious of increasingly complicated expressions, but Erik suspected there was some kind of mental communication behind it. He ignored the exchange and went back to tapping his pencil on his desk and waiting for class to start.

Finally, the teacher got up and began taking attendance. Charles and Raven’s mental conversation had seemingly ended, as Raven was now whispering with Angel about something that had them both giddy and grinning.

A very distinct voice sounded in Erik’s head, unobtrusively sneaking in as to avoid startling him. _Okay, I know you said to stay out of your head, but what about communication?_

Erik arranged his features into their most hostile expression, even though Charles was facing the front of the classroom, away from him. He seriously didn’t want this guy in his head.

“Raven Darkhölme?”

“Here.”

_Much more effective than passing notes._

This guy didn’t give up, did he? Erik’s expression softened slightly. He didn’t actually know how to communicate with someone telepathically. He squinted, formed the words in his mind – _That’s fine, I guess._ – focused on them intensely, and shoved them in what he hoped was Charles’s general direction.

Charles actually doubled over, or would have if his desk hadn’t been in the way. As it was, he jerked forward, slamming his head against the desk with a loud, almost sickening crack. All eyes in the room turned to him; he gave a charming, apologetic grin that Erik simultaneously hated and wanted to kiss off his mouth and held his hand out to Raven, who was already fishing around in her backpack for something. She came up with a fistful of tissues, which Charles took and began using to wipe up his nose, which, Erik belatedly realized, had started bleeding. Erik gaped.

“Sorry,” Charles said. “I, uh, thought I saw a… bee.”

The teacher gave Charles a strange look before returning to the roll. “Erik Lehnsherr?”

Erik raised his hand. “Here,” he said in kind of a hushed, guilty tone, all his previous hostility mysteriously washed away. Meanwhile, Charles looked like he was doing his best not to glare at Erik.

 _You didn’t have to shout,_ Charles projected. Erik shrugged as apologetically as he could. He reached for one of the still clean tissues in Charles’s hand and wiped a bit of blood Charles had missed above his mouth. Charles’s face went slack and Erik belatedly realized how intimate he was being. He heard a snort to his right – Raven, probably – and withdrew.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, to avoid attracting attention. “You had, um…” Erik gestured to the general region of his face where the blood had been, “But it’s gone now.”

“Thanks.” Charles still looked like he’d seen a ghost. He turned partially around, but continued staring at Erik out of the corner of his eye. Erik tried not to squirm.

Attempting again to communicate with Charles, he focused a bit less on the words and just sort of nudged them toward Charles. _Is this volume better?_

Charles smiled and nodded. _Yes._

“Charles Xavier?”

“Here.”

Having finished taking attendance, the teacher began going over the syllabus for the year. Erik only half-listened, enough to absorb that he would have to bake (something he wasn’t looking forward to), sew (at least he could practice the finer points of his mutation), and, at the end of the year, partner up (the very phrase brought on an intensely negative reaction within him) with another student and take care of a flour sack for a month in a childcare project that would determine 25% of their final grade.

 _I’ve just never… communicated with anyone telepathically before,_ Erik said after a significant pause. _So I didn’t know._

_Makes sense; we’ve only got two telepaths in this school, and I know you’re not friends with Emma. Which, might I add, she’s pretty upset about. She likes to “collect” mutations in her, um, gang. No one else around here has anything like yours. Metallokinesis, right?_

_Right._

_And since you don’t hang out with Emma, I’m guessing mutant supremacy… not your cup of tea?_  

Charles struck Erik as exactly the type of person who actually drank tea. Which was ridiculous. He was in high school. High school students didn’t drink tea; they arrived fifteen minutes late to class with Starbucks.

 _I’m not into politics,_ Erik replied simply.

 _I am a telepath,_ Charles said after a moment, _But I really did mean it when I said I’ll stay out of your thoughts. I’ve been doing the same for Raven for years. You know, little sisters don’t exactly want their older brothers to be able to riffle through their private things, and that includes their thoughts._ _  
_

 _I can imagine._ They paused their mental conversation, during which the teacher announced that not only would they all be partnering up for their final assignment, but also for the entire year. “So choose wisely,” she said. Erik narrowed his eyes at the back of Charles’s head. To their right, Raven and Angel were already giving each other meaningful “let’s be partners” looks. Erik honestly didn’t recognize a single other person in the room. The corners of his mouth turned up, just barely. _If I’m going to have to take this awful class, I wouldn’t mind working with you. Would you like to…?_

 _Yes!_ Charles’s response was immediate. Kind of… almost too immediate. Erik gave him a strange look – gave the back of his head a strange look, rather – but Charles didn’t say anything else, mentally or otherwise, and they received their instructions from the teacher for their first baking assignment.

\- - -

It turned out Charles was terrible at just about everything they were expected to do in Home Ec. On only their second day, Erik left Charles alone with the brownies for ten minutes and he somehow managed to add copious amounts of salt and absolutely no sugar.

Thankfully, despite finding baking dull and unrewarding, Erik had quite a talent for it. “I’m better at cooking,” he said when Charles bit into one of his fresh, hot, chocolate chip cookies and declared it the most delicious thing he had ever put into his mouth. (Upon hearing Charles’s phrasing, Raven almost choked on her own cookie, and dissolved into a fit of laughter for five solid minutes.) Meanwhile, Charles took another bite, closing his eyes to savor the taste and making a perfectly obscene noise that Erik had to grit his teeth and picture his mother in a bikini to ignore.

“If you’re better at cooking then I’m going to have to force you to cook for me, Erik,” Charles said, licking melted chocolate off his fingertips. Erik bit the inside of his cheek and pointedly ignored Charles’s tongue and mouth and hands and everything.

“Any time you want,” Erik choked out, glad Charles was so caught up in devouring a second cookie to notice how red he was turning (though Raven did look over from where she had finally settled down and was enjoying a separate batch of cookies with Angel, and she wouldn’t look away or stop grinning no matter how fiercely Erik glared).

Finally, Charles glanced up, catching Erik’s eye, and spoke with his mouth full. “I will definitely take you up on that.”

\- - -

Sewing was a similar disaster. Charles broke the sewing machine no less than a dozen times, which didn’t actually turn out to be so bad, as it gave Erik the opportunity to practice using his powers to fix (or, in one case, entirely reconstruct) things, also while listening to Charles masterfully invent apologies and excuses in that perfect voice of his.

And when they moved on from sewing to knitting, Erik was able to master controlling the needles without lifting a finger and attempted to make Charles a pair of those dorky fingerless gloves he wore. Charles accepted the gift with a practiced air of gratitude, and despite it being the middle of a very warm spring, he wore them every day for weeks after.

And then, on the first day of May, two very notable things happened, one right after another.

First, their teacher announced the beginning of the flour sack project, where partners were expected to take care of a flour sack as they would a child, take cheesy photographs and everything, and bring the flour sack back to class a month later – or, for the two seniors in the class, on the day before graduation – in one piece.

When the teacher instructed them to partner up in boy/girl pairs – something Erik had been dreading – Charles raised his hand and delivered an eloquent lecture on heteronormativity.

“Doesn’t it make more sense for us to work with whoever we feel most comfortable taking up such an enormous responsibility?” he said. “After all, in this day and age, isn’t it more important that a marriage or partnership resulting in parenthood be founded more upon mutual like and respect for each other than based on gender alone?”

In the end, the teacher had relented, although despite Charles’s rousing speech, Erik wasn’t ruling out the possibility that he’d used a little underhanded telepathy as his primary negotiation tactic… but he didn’t bring it up, mostly because he was pleased with the results. Any chance to work with Charles represented, at the very least, not having to work with a stranger, or Angel, or Raven, who lately always seemed to be staring at him and whispering.

On their way out – Charles and Erik had taken to walking to their next classes together, purely out of convenience, of course, since they were both in the science wing for seventh period – Erik did bring up another aspect of Charles’s argument that had been on his mind.

“That was a really heartfelt defense of homosexual relationships,” he said. “Where did that come from?” Erik was careful to keep his tone casual. He knew what revealing himself as a mutant could do to a friendship from his own childhood experiences; he imagined revealing himself as gay to a disapproving audience would yield similar results. He knew, at least, to be cautious.

The way Charles spoke, it seemed he was approaching the subject with a great deal more practice and ease. He stopped, flipped his backpack around, and pointed at a series of pins decorating its numerous pockets.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice,” he said. Indeed, pinned to Charles’s backpack were a series of pride pins: one with your easily recognizable rainbow colors, and three others. “My sister and I are both queer. I’m bisexual.”

“I had no idea,” Erik admitted, unable to help the smirk that crept onto his face, bordering on a full-blown smile. What an interesting turn of events…

Charles laughed, honestly the most beautiful sound Erik knew. “Sometimes it seems like you miss things on purpose,” Charles said. “They’ve been pinned there all year, and last year. I’m not exactly in hiding about it. I’m already a mutant; anyone who isn’t going to want to be my friend because of that also isn’t going to want to be my friend because I’m queer, you know? Intolerance tends to overlap.”

He had a point. But they’d reached Charles’s Genetics classroom and had to part ways. Erik felt a sudden urge to say something he’d only said once before, and before he could think better of it, he reached out and grabbed Charles’s wrist to stop him going into the classroom.

“Wait,” he said, lowering his voice so Charles had to step closer to hear him. He looked up with those bright blue eyes and that you’re-the-most-important-person-in-the-world gaze and Erik _had_ to tell him.

They were sort of half-obstructing the doorway; Hank McCoy squeezed past them without a word. “I, um…” Erik self-consciously released Charles’s hand. “Me too. I mean… I’m gay.”

Charles broke into a grin. “I know,” he said. Erik looked suspicious, and Charles quickly amended his statement. “I’m sorry; I picked it up before I made that promise to stay out of your head. A long time ago, actually; you probably don’t remember, but we were in the same Biology class freshman year.”

Oh, Erik remembered. “Well I’m… I’m glad you know,” he said, totally sincere. Charles’s grin widened. He took step back, into the classroom.

“Me too,” he said cheerily. “About me, I mean. Glad we’re on the same page.” Pause. “Hey, um, tomorrow we’re getting that flour sack in class; I was thinking we should hang out after school, figure out our plans for the project.”

Erik nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds great, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you!”

Erik went into his class with a smile as wide as his face, enjoying the added benefits of scaring off the other students in his AP Physics class with a grin others had described as “positively shark-like.”

He barely paid attention in class.

\- - -

The next day in class, the teacher passed out the heavy flour sacks to fifteen pairs of students. When she reached their desks, she heaved an enormous sack of flour a bit larger than an actual baby in front of Erik and moved on. Charles scooted his chair closer to Erik and leaned his elbows on his desk. Their shoulders were practically touching.

“So,” Charles said, letting the sound hang in the air between them, meeting Erik’s eyes with his own piercing gaze for several long moments before returning his attention to the fake baby. He didn’t say anything else. While the teacher went over the project requirements, Charles made telepathic conversation. Erik knew he should have been disturbed by how natural it felt to have Charles in his head now, even if he wasn’t reading anything. Maybe it would be easier, Erik briefly considered, if Charles would read his thoughts. If Erik let him in and let him see his massive crush, let the chips fall where they may.

No. He couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t work.

 _Let’s get together after school_ , Charles proposed, bringing Erik’s attention back to the matter at hand. _Let’s get ice cream. After all that baking, I’ve come to associate your presence with sweets, and ever since the baking unit ended, let me tell you, I’ve been absolutely deprived._

Ice cream. With Charles. Erik could think of about a million ways that could end in disaster. _Fine by me. I’ll meet you out by the parking lot after your Genetics class, then?_ Armed with plenty of disgusting or disturbing images as emergency turn-offs, Erik didn’t add.

 _Oh, actually, I’ve got track today,_ Charles said, sounding genuinely regretful. _It ends at four, but I understand if you can’t wait that long._

An opportunity to see Charles running in his track uniform? This day just kept getting better.

 _No, that’s fine. I’ll get some homework done out by the field and we can get ice cream after,_ he said. Charles grinned at him.

 _Perfect._  

\- - -

Erik had seriously overestimated the length of the track team’s shorts. He’d worn longer underwear. And having never seen Charles’s legs – Charles always wore long pants, and long-sleeved shirts, except when running. It was a real tragedy. – Erik was suffering from serious overexposure. He couldn’t have ever imagined how much he had been missing out. The years of soccer and track clearly showed in Charles’s well defined leg muscles; Erik sat on the bleachers with a textbook open in his lap – strategic positioning – ignoring his homework and watching intently as Charles stretched in the middle of the field, displaying copious amounts of leg and arm and a stretch of his back when he leaned forward. Their flour sack lay forgotten next to Erik, slumped over his backpack, for the entire length of the two-hour practice.

Charles walked toward the gym and its locker rooms side-by-side with Hank McCoy, who Erik hadn’t known was on the track team but who had been at least twice as fast – inhumanly so – as everyone else. Charles, for once, instead of chatting Hank’s ear off, was listening intently, nodding in all the right places. He held up a finger to stop Hank momentarily and gestured to Erik.

“Erik! This is Hank; he wants to talk to you!” Charles called out. “I told him you’re going to MIT; Hank was considering there before he decided. You are going to MIT next year, right?”

Yes, he was; they’d spoken about it just once in Home Ec. Charles was going to Oxford, his dream school, to study genetics, and, he said, hopefully one day contribute to the mutant community.

Erik nodded and packed up his things, slung the flour sack over his shoulder, and jogged to catch up with Charles and Hank. He noticed a few nasty bruises on Charles’s arms and legs. “What’s all this?” he asked. “I had no idea track was such a dangerous sport,” he joked.

“Charles is ridiculously clumsy,” Hank said. “He used to wear short-sleeved shirts; teachers were always worried he was being abused at home.”

Charles shrugged, not meeting anyone’s gaze but staring straight ahead. “What can I say, I fall down the stairs a lot for someone who’s supposed to be graceful and quick on his feet.” His voice held a trace of humor, but nothing sincere. Erik was momentarily suspicious, but dismissed it. Charles was a smart guy. If something were actually wrong, he’d have done something about it by now.

Changing the subject, Erik gestured to Hank. “You’re the kid who skipped two grades, right?”

Hank rubbed a hand along the back of his neck self-consciously as they entered the boys’ locker room. “Not consecutively, but yes.” He paused, seemingly searching for something else to say. “Charles says you want to be an architect?”

“Mhm, and yourself?”

“Mechanical engineer, I think.”

“And you two know each other from track?” Erik gestured between Charles and Hank. “Or classes?”

“Both,” Charles said.

“I’m not technically on the track team,” Hank explained. “My mutation disqualifies me. But I practice with them.”

Erik was about to ask about Hank’s mutation, but Charles spoke up before he could. “Hank, Erik and I have sort of a date after this, so I’m going to take a quick shower, but do go on talking without me.”

Erik watched Charles until he disappeared around the corner, the word “date” echoing over and over in his head, before turning his attention back to Hank, who was smirking at him half-shyly, half-knowingly in a distinctly Raven-like expression (minus the shyness).

“A date, huh?” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Not really,” Erik said, feigning disinterest. Charles _had_ called it a date, hadn’t he? “Sort of a date,” he’d said. So wasn’t it a date? But only “sort of,” so… maybe not.

Hank ignored him. “So you’re the guy Charles won’t shut up about. He’s really into you. Moira keeps calling you ‘The One.’ He’s never had a boyfriend before, you know. Or a girlfriend, actually. And you’re a mutant, right? Not that it matters. How come I haven’t seen you around? Are you one of Emma’s—?”

“Hank, dude, let the guy breathe,” an unfamiliar voice interjected from behind. Erik turned and saw a blonde, shirtless, slightly familiar guy in half a football uniform. He shoved Hank over to make room for himself to sit.

“So, you’re Erik. Good to finally meet you.” He nodded. “I’m Alex. Another of Charles’s friends. Although that’s not really saying much; dude’s friends with everyone.” A long pause stretched between them during which Erik sincerely didn’t have anything to say. Alex continued, “So, you’re the guy who has Charles seeing hearts, yeah? Dude, I don’t care what kind of mutant you are; if you hurt him, you are so dead.”

“Oh, and I was intimidating him?” Hank interjected.

“There’s a difference between threatening someone on purpose and scaring them off by being such a nerd, Bozo,” Alex said dismissively. Fortunately, Erik was saved from having to respond to Alex’s threat when Charles showed up. Less fortunately, Charles was dripping wet with a towel hanging off his hips, about an inch from slipping down completely. Erik choked and had to look away.

“Hank, Alex, leave Erik alone,” Charles said. “You’re going to scare him off. Get out of here.”

Hank and Alex reluctantly obeyed; Charles immediately slid off the towel and started getting dressed in his stodgy old button-up shirt and jeans. Erik continued to look away, avoiding the temptation to watch, because frankly, it just wasn’t worth it.

“Your friends all seem to think we’re a couple,” Erik said nonchalantly. Charles chuckled.

“Of course they do,” he said. “They thought Moira and I were a couple for three years. To be fair, we went to prom together last year, so we didn’t exactly work hard to prove them wrong; we just went as friends, but you know how people love to believe gossip. So yeah, they’ll think we’re together. To be fair, you’re kind of exactly my type.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Your ‘type’?” he asked.

Charles blushed slightly and ignored Erik’s question. “Should we… head out? You ready?” he asked. “Got enough of your homework done?”

“Yeah,” Erik lied. He was definitely going to have to stay up late tonight finishing everything, but he got the feeling it would probably be worth it. He hefted the flour sack over to Charles. “Your turn,” he said, tilting his head as he watched Charles struggle with the sudden weight for a moment before regaining his balance.

“I get out of practice and you immediately expect me to lug this heavy thing around?” Charles said, mock-indignantly. “Rude.”

Erik gestured up and down Charles’s torso. “You looked like you could use some work on your upper body,” he said. Charles’s upper body was actually nothing to scoff at, as he’d borne witness to just minutes earlier when Charles had stepped out of the shower in a magnificent display of near-nudity, but there was no way Erik was going to admit that.

Maybe if Erik fattened Charles up on ice cream he would stop being so appealing. But probably not. There was nothing he could do about those eyes. Or that mouth. Or that hair. _Damn._

\- - -

Ice cream became something of a daily occurrence, excluding weekends, during which they took turns lugging the flour sack home with them. They took all the necessary cheesy photographs, once taking the fake-child to the park where Erik manipulated one of the swings higher than it had any right to go, to the point where Charles was yelling at him – “Erik, quit showing off! That thing isn’t a toy; it’s our final grade!” “Come on, Charles, I’m engaging with my child! I’m the fun dad!” “ _Flour sacks don’t need a ‘fun dad’!_ ” – after which Charles insisted on taking the flour sack home with him even though it was Erik’s turn (“Clearly I can’t trust you on your own with this thing.” “Protective, much?” “I’d just rather not fail, if it’s all the same to you.”).

After a while, their interactions consisted mostly of ignoring the flour sack and the assignment it represented – they’d fulfilled all the other requirements and only had to keep it alive for the two weeks until graduation – and enjoying each other’s company. Charles was constantly urging Erik to show off his mutation for him. Erik was happy to oblige, because it meant seeing that fascinated, you’re-the-most-incredible-person-I-know look on Charles’s features, which was quickly becoming Erik’s favorite expression.

Erik began to seriously wonder if it was possible that Charles really did have a thing for him, because he was acting more and more like he did every day. Sitting uncomfortably close to him, finding constant excuses to touch him, and the few times they hung out with other members of Charles’s friend group, they were always watching Charles and Erik like they expected the two of them to make out on the spot, in front of everyone.

And so, when Charles invited Erik over to his house – mansion, rather – for the first time since they’d gotten to know each other, Erik planned to take the opportunity to watch Charles’s every move and determine whether he was, in fact, interested in pursuing a relationship.

They were alone in Xavier Mansion, which had seemed _huge_ on the outside and somehow managed to be even more expansive on the inside. Charles gave Erik a cursory tour of the main floor, gesturing upstairs and listing all the many other rooms he hadn’t shown him, including bedrooms, guest rooms, and a library. Erik spend the entire time in awe, grateful when they retreated to the reasonably sized kitchen, raided the cupboards for snacks, spread out their homework on the kitchen table, and worked on their respective assignments from other classes. They propped up the flour sack on the kitchen counter and ignored it, as they were used to.

As an added bonus, while most of Xavier Mansion seemed relatively old and largely devoid of metal, other than modern appliances added later, the kitchen was full of it. Erik felt right at home, feeling it all hum around him, and halfway through his physics homework he stood and went over to make himself a sandwich.

“Erik, I’ve been thinking lately,” Charles said from across the room, digging through a bag of pretzels, “About the two of us.”

Startled, Erik dropped the jar he was holding on the floor. It fell with a crash, shards of glass scattering everywhere and mayonnaise dripping onto the floor. Charles stared wide-eyed for a moment before bursting into laughter. Erik couldn’t help but chuckle as well. “Where are the towels?” he asked. Charles gestured vaguely to Erik’s left.

“Top drawer, second from the left,” he said. Erik found the drawer, and in it, a suitable rag to clean up with, and walked back over to the mess. He wasn’t looking where he was going, however, slipped, and reached out for the countertop to catch himself. His hand ended up swatting the flour sack, which toppled over and, in time with Erik landing hard on his back, burst open on the floor.

This time, Charles was doubled over in hysterical, gasping laughter. Erik was covered in white powder, their project was ruined, and Erik had luckily managed to miss any of the more treacherous glass shards on the floor.

Still laughing, Charles stumbled over to where Erik was still breathless from the fall and held out a hand to help him up, which Erik accepted. “Sorry about your kitchen,” Erik said, surveying the mess.

“It’s alright,” Charles said. “Raven and I are the only ones who come in here. My stepdad, occasionally, but we’ll clean up by the time he gets home. He’s usually not back before ten.”

Erik nodded, looking down at his flour-caked hands. “I should probably clean myself up first,” he said.

“I’ll help.” Charles reached into the towel drawer and withdrew another washcloth. He ran it under warm water and dragged Erik over to the sink, handing him the rag. “Wash your hands and clean your face with this; I’ll go get you some clothes. Mine are probably a bit small but I think I can steal one of my stepdad’s shirts without him noticing.”

Erik nodded and watched Charles disappear from the room. He stripped off his shirt, flung it aside, and started washing himself off. He was splashing his face with water when Charles returned, a shirt in one hand and a pair of jeans in the other. “Dry off and then put these on,” he said, placing them neatly in a clean corner of the kitchen counter. He took up the washcloth and steadied Erik’s face with a hand under his chin. Erik froze, standing patiently still while Charles wiped the remaining flour of his face.

Minutes passed. Charles exchanged the wet rag for a dry one and dried off Erik’s face. Erik was suddenly overly conscious of Charles’s hand on his bare chest, how close their faces were – barely inches apart – how blue Charles’s eyes were, even more so up close, and, oh hell, his mouth was really red and crazily kissable and—

_Can I kiss you?_

The thought appeared perhaps more suddenly than any of Charles’s mental communication had before. Charles looked up at him unwaveringly, eyes full of hope; Erik bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

Charles didn’t need telling twice. He stood up on his toes, leaned in, and pressed his mouth firmly against Erik’s, tightening his grip on Erik’s chin. His hand on Erik’s chest slid up to his shoulder and then behind his neck; one of Erik’s hands tangled in Charles’s hair and the other found his waist and dragged him closer.

 _You were saying,_ Erik projected, _That you’ve been thinking about the two of us?_ He paused to tilt his head and opened his mouth; Charles immediately took advantage of that. Erik ignored the pain in his back from the counter’s edge pressing into his spine, reached his hand out behind him for balance. It ended up landing in the sink, which was filled with soapy water up to his elbow. _Is this what you were thinking?_

 _Pretty much to the letter,_ Charles replied. _I—_

Charles’s mouth stilled. Confused, Erik opened his eyes, and saw Charles looking distant and confused. “Fuck,” he said aloud, drawing away. Without explaining himself, Charles grabbed Erik by the shoulder and shoved him toward the kitchen table, where their stuff was scattered around in one big mess of papers and books. He threw his stepdad’s shirt at Erik to put on. “Get your things together; I’m sorry, but you need to go.”

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. “What the hell is going on?” Erik demanded, unwilling to be shunted out on such short notice without so much as an explanation. Charles sighed and explained.

“It’s my stepdad,” Charles explained, “Kurt. He’s home way early and I don’t know why. He was out of the country all week and his flight wasn’t supposed to get back until late tonight. But it’s definitely him and he’s not really supportive of the whole ‘bisexual’ thing so if he sees you and me and we look like… we just made out, he’s going to assume the worst and I’ll be in trouble and you’ll probably do something stupid.”

“What makes you think—?” Erik began, but then again, Charles had a point. “Okay, yeah. I’ll leave. Where are my shoes?”

Charles shoved his shoes at him, threw things haphazardly into his backpack and shoved that at him too. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? In school. I’ll… yeah.” He nodded a bit frantically and shoved Erik toward an exit just to the side of the kitchen that led out to the yard. “Just walk around the house to the front and follow the driveway to the street. It’s pretty hard to get lost. Just—Kurt!” Charles spun around to face an intimidating presence that had materialized in the doorway. _Erik, leave. Now._

Hesitating only a moment, Erik slipped out the side entrance and into the yard.

Halfway down the extensively long driveway, he ran into Raven. She looked at him strangely, took in his appearance, and grinned. “You look like you had a fun time in there,” she observed.

“Yeah, it was great until your stepdad showed up,” Erik growled, kind of bitter about the whole thing. He wasn’t expecting the way Raven’s eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks.

“Wait,” she said urgently. “Kurt? He was in there? He got back early? And he… shit, did he see you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“With Charles?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God.” She dumped her backpack into the grass and kicked off her sandals. “I have to go.”

In a flash of blue – completely naked, scaly, red-haired _blue_ – Raven took off running down the driveway and didn’t look back except to yell over her shoulder: “Don’t you even think about following me, Lehnsherr! Go home! You’ll see him tomorrow!”

Confused the whole way home, it wasn’t until Erik stepped through his front door and greeted his mother that he realized what had happened.

“Shit.”

\- - -

Sure enough, the next day in Home Ec, Raven showed up with a black eye. Charles looked unchanged, but Erik couldn’t stop staring at his long sleeves and legs concealed beneath his jeans.

 _Sorry about yesterday,_ Charles told him while the teacher was going over how to balance a checkbook. Erik shot a pointed look at the back of his head.

 _What are you apologizing to me for?_ he demanded. _I got you in trouble with your stepdad. Did he hurt you?_

Charles didn’t answer at first. _I know you want to do something about it. There’s nothing you can do. I’m moving out next year anyway and it won’t be an issue._ He paused, turned, and met Erik’s eyes briefly before turning back around.  _I’m worried, though, that with me gone, he’ll start taking it out on Raven._

Erik looked over at Raven. He had a perfect view of her black eye. As if she sensed him looking, she turned to face him and smirked. “You should see the other guy,” she whispered, winking with her good eye. Erik chuckled. _I think she can take care of herself._

_Yeah, that’s what I’m concerned about._

Raven, realizing she’d been cut out of the discussion, ventured to start a new line of conversation. “Hey Charles, Erik told me you two made out yesterday.” The teacher stopped her lecture and glared in their general direction.

“Anything the three of you would like to share with the class?” she asked. Raven grinned at the opportunity.

“Actually—”

“No,” Charles said quickly. “Sorry. We’ll be quiet.” He silenced them both with a glare.

\- - -

They had to explain to their teacher what happened to their flour sack when they were expected to turn it in the day before graduation. Needless to say, they omitted several details.

They failed the project, but thankfully, passed the class.

And the next day, at graduation, they walked onstage and accepted their diplomas. There were over fifty people in between them, their last names being so far apart alphabetically. When Erik accepted his, the announcer – one of the school counselors – read out his name and where he would be attending school. “Erik Lehnsherr, Massachusetts Institute of Technology.”

Charles was the very last person to go onstage. Erik was grinning in the audience with his diploma, looking up at his mother, who gave him two thumbs up and clapped a little. Erik turned his attention to Charles, standing in the wings of the stage while “Andrew Wythe” – whoever that was – descended back into the audience.

“Charles Xavier, Harvard University.”

Erik gaped. Charles met his eyes from the stage, grinning and waving. _Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,_ Charles’s voice said in his head. _I wanted it to be a surprise. You’re not getting rid of me that easily._

Erik’s shocked expression transformed into a grin, and he cheered along with everyone else. He could actually hear Raven screaming in the audience, something like, “THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Erik looked up at her, blonde hair bouncing, and stood up as well, yelling as loud as he could:

“THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”

Erik could see Charles raise his eyebrows from where he was descending from the stage. _Boyfriend, huh?_

_Yeah. You’re stuck with me too, Xavier._

Charles quickened his pace, practically sprinting past last names A through K, right up to Erik. _Mind if I kiss you?_ Erik nodded; Charles grabbed his head and slammed their mouths together. _Y’know,_ Charles said, tilting his head into the kiss, _I always thought Home Ec seemed like a useless class._

 _It kind of was, for you,_ Erik pointed out. _You learned nothing. I did everything for you._

_You also killed our flour sack child._

Erik broke away, laughing. “Fair enough, I did do that. But then we made out, so…”

“Fair trade, I think.” Charles looked around conspiratorially. “Hey, do you think anyone would notice if we snuck out? We’ve got our diplomas already, and there was a nice little corner behind the stage where I don’t think anyone would see us.”

“On one condition,” Erik said. “After this, you come home with me and meet my mother. I have to convince her I’m not going to die alone.”

Charles laughed. “I accept your terms. Now come back here so we can make out like dumb teenagers.”

“We are dumb teenagers.”

“True. Come on.”

They didn’t return until the ceremony was over.


End file.
